Every Trench Coat Needs A Story
by Individually Packaged
Summary: At the sight of Bakura's smirk, something sparked in Marik. He needed to say something, or do something. This was Bakura—Bakura—finally standing before him again. Co-written with ChaosRocket.


**A/N:** Hello everyone! Finally a post from me, haha.

So ChaosRocket and I actually wrote this story together when we were hanging out at the Lubricus Con in Washington state this weekend (which was a lot of fun, by the way!). (I'm sitting next to Tae right now! - Chaos)

* * *

**Every Trench Coat Needs A Story**

The pounding rain fell in sheets. Bakura lunged across puddles in the cracked concrete, short of breath, trapped in the alleyways of Japan as he made for some sort of haven.

The shatter of the church glass still rang in his ears, but he pushed that thought aside. He needed to focus. First, the Millennium Ring. And then the Shadow Game with the Pharaoh. With those steps, he would finally achieve vengeance. The formula played in his head, but the matter of the first step eluded him. He ran blindly through the streets, soaked in both downpour and doubt, shirt sticking to his cold skin.

He had no lead at all. The Ring could be anywhere, really. Japan, Egypt. Just down the street, halfway around the world. Ryou had been asleep since Bakura had taken over, and offered no advice. Bakura had nothing but the bitter rain on his back and the dreadful feeling that even when he found the Ring, the next step would be no easier.

But, as always, he had no one to turn to.

* * *

Marik shivered and tugged the coat more tightly around himself. His blond hair was plastered against his cheeks by the pouring rain, and he ducked his head as if he could somehow hide from the downpour. It wasn't the best idea to be wandering the alleyways late at night in the middle of a storm, but he'd had to get out of there. The museum had been unbearably claustrophobic. He should never have agreed to come on this trip with Ishizu, but she'd be expecting him back soon to help out with the new pieces for the exhibit.

He didn't even want to head back to the museum. He hadn't even felt right ever since—

"Bakura!" Marik suddenly gasped.

He'd been so lost in his thoughts that he only now noticed the figure bounding toward him.

* * *

Bakura was running too fast to stop, and so the collision sent them both sprawling to the ground.

"Bakura," Marik repeated, standing up shakily as the rain trickled down his neck and chilled him.

"Marik," Bakura breathed, surprised. He was still winded, looking up at Marik through wet, white bangs. "How are you—how are you alive?"

Marik was taken aback by the question, when he remembered that the last they'd seen of each other, they were both being blown apart by Ra's attack. Bakura had no way of knowing what happened after they'd failed to defeat Marik's dark side.

"Long story," Marik said simply, not wanting to delve into details. He was still reeling at the sight of Bakura. Alive and well, standing right before him. "You? I thought you died after that duel."

Bakura's lip twitched into a smirk. "Long story."

At the sight of the smirk, something sparked in Marik. He needed to say something, or do something. This was Bakura—_Bakura_—finally standing before him again.

"Well, it's been a while. Bakura, I—" Marik started, but he cut himself off.

When Bakura gave him a quizzical look, Marik instead stripped the trench coat from his shoulders and offered it to Bakura. "It's raining pretty hard. Here, you can borrow this."

Bakura grabbed it tentatively, donning the black coat. "I guess it'll be useful."

There was something striking about the sight of Bakura in the trench coat. Pure white against tar-black as Bakura's hair spilled across the coat collar, he now looked more menacing, dangerous. Gone was any trace of Ryou's virtue, now replaced with an unruffled wrath.

Marik drank in the sight, until the silence drove him to speak again.

"You look like you're in a hurry," he said. "What are you planning to do?"

Bakura was reluctant to reply. He didn't particularly want to disclose anything about his plan, but Marik had just generously lent him the coat, so he felt that an honest answer was appropriate.

"I'm planning to get the Millennium Ring."

Marik didn't bat an eye. "How are you going to do that?"

Bakura didn't care to admit his uncertainty, but still he said, "I don't know yet."

"Well, I can give you a place to start—Yugi has the Ring," Marik said offhandedly.

Bakura was momentarily thrown by how invaluable that information was, and how easily Marik had volunteered it. Still, all he said was, "Good to know."

"So what are you going to do after you get the Ring?"

The constant questions were starting to grate on Bakura's nerves. The rain splattered against the trench coat as he replied, "Then it will finally be time to complete my plan."

Marik was undeterred. "And what plan is that?"

Finally, Bakura glared at Marik through the sheets of rain, his mouth pursed. "That doesn't really concern you."

Despite the small morsel of information Marik had received about the Ring, he was still no closer to understanding what Bakura was planning to do. And somehow, it was imperative that he find out. "Well, how long is it going to take?"

Bakura's teeth gritted and he tasted rain as it trickled across his face and into his mouth. "None of this has anything to do with you—why do you even care?"

And suddenly, Marik realized how shaken Bakura was. His wet hair was scattered across his face and through the blur of the constant rain, Marik caught feral brown eyes staring back at him. These were the eyes of a creature who not only didn't want to reveal its intentions, but who also wasn't even certain of their outcome. Bakura was scared, and there was no other explanation for his anger.

Finally, Marik snapped at the previous retort.

"I don't."

Bakura gave him another piercing look, and then glanced away. "Well, then. I should be going."

However, as Bakura made to turn away, Marik suddenly said, "So. I don't know when I'll see you again."

Bakura glanced back at him but didn't reply, which was the only answer Marik needed. Behind them, a flash of lightning lit the sky and Marik clearly saw the unsettled look on Bakura's face.

Before there could be any second thoughts, any misgivings, Marik grabbed Bakura by the shoulders, and brought their faces crashing together. The force sent them backward into the alleyway wall, and Marik pinned Bakura against the concrete. Bakura's mouth was warm and wet, and up close, Marik caught the scent of spicy shampoo and leather. He felt Bakura's tongue slip into his mouth and pressed closer, feeling the friction through layers and layers of clothes. The heat was welcome to the cold rain still streaming down their faces.

There was an edge of frenzy in Marik's movements, but despite his greatest efforts to subdue this frenzy, it couldn't be helped. His lower lip trembled against Bakura's. His hands dug into Bakura's shoulders, as if he could somehow keep him rooted to the spot.

They broke free within moments, and Bakura was panting again.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Nothing." Marik shrugged, pulling away from Bakura. "Just thought we should do that one more time before you go."

Bakura gave him a long look. It was clear by Marik's expression that this wasn't an offhand gesture, but Bakura wasn't about to bring that up.

Finally, he turned away again. "Well, goodbye, Marik."

Before he could make another move, Marik suddenly reached out. "Bakura, wait."

Bakura glanced at him, and his brown eyes were disquieting. Marik opened his mouth for a moment, unsure where to start.

"You'd better—" he began. And then the entire carefully constructed sentence fell apart as he instead said, "You'd better bring my coat back."

"Of course," Bakura said, the shadow of a smirk on his lips. "What do you think I am, a thief?"

Marik allowed himself to smile back, but only after Bakura had turned for the last time, and disappeared into the dark rain.

* * *

Marik remembered the exact moment he found out that Bakura's plan had failed. He recalled the way his hands had clenched, and the nails had dug into his palms; the way he'd bitten the inside of his mouth and stood entirely still, as if holding this tense pose would prevent him from breaking apart completely.

In Egypt, he buried himself in the type of work that consumes and ravages the mind, and therefore shuts out any other thoughts.

It was some time later that he finally established reconciliation with himself, but his thoughts were still plagued. He was in the kitchen of the home he shared with Ishizu and Rishid, sorting through paperwork for the museum, when he heard someone at the door.

Both of his siblings would be out for the day, which was Marik's first warning.

The bolt unlocked and suddenly, the door was wrenched open, and a man stepped inside.

He wasn't stocky but rather solidly built, the type of man who kept in shape. His grey eyes peered at Marik from beneath a shock of white hair, stark against his bronze skin. Under a floor-length black coat that fit him too tightly, he wore a navy cloth wrapped around his waist, the sort of thing one didn't see too often nowadays.

"Marik," the man breathed out as he approached. He'd clearly been in a hurry.

Marik jumped up from the table immediately. "Who are you? How do you know who I am?"

The man was undeterred as he neared Marik.

"Don't come any closer to me!" Marik said, hoping the intruder didn't have any weapons. He grabbed a frying pan from the stove top and glared at the man. "I mean it."

The man laughed. "Oh, come on now, Marik."

As he stepped closer, Marik noticed a strangely-fashioned scar on the right side of his face. Jagged and dangerous. Marik clenched the frying pan more tightly.

"What do you want from me?"

The man chuckled again. "You know what I want."

Suddenly, he lunged forward and grabbed Marik's wrist, causing him to loosen his grip on the frying pan. The iron made a clang as it skidded across the floor. Panicking, Marik seized the man by the collar of his coat, trying to defend himself against what he was sure would be a deathblow.

But the man made no move to hurt Marik. Instead, he released Marik's wrist and stared at him in amusement.

"Why are you—what do you—" Marik started, confused.

They stood close together, and Marik smelled the leather of his coat. He traced the outline of the collar, something important nagging at him. Something he'd entirely forgotten.

"My coat," he said, jolted.

The man smiled at him.

"Yeah, I brought it back."

The explanation was logical, but Marik couldn't allow himself to believe it. He looked again into the man's grey eyes and tried to imagine a different set of features.

"Bakura," he finally said.

It couldn't be. It _couldn't_.

But then Bakura grabbed his face and pressed his lips to Marik's, just as Marik fought a stinging at his eyes, and _yes, it had to be_. He opened his mouth and kissed Bakura, still clutching the trench coat by its collar. The kiss was slow and tentative, as if this reality was so fragile that it might break. Bakura's lips were full and wet, and Marik pressed him closer, trying to learn the curves and bends of this new body.

When they broke apart, Bakura rested his forehead against Marik's.

"It's good to see you," Marik said, and saw the surprise on Bakura's face. After all, those were not the words of a man who tried to mask his emotions.

Bakura smiled and replied just as openly, "Good to see you, too."

And really, that was all Marik had been trying to say when he'd first given Bakura the coat. A mere hint. A glimpse into the wealth of words that would hardly cross Marik's lips. The same words that would hardly cross Bakura's lips.

But for the moment, the trench coat fell from Bakura's shoulders, and finally, there was nothing between them left unsaid.

* * *

**A/N:** So this story arose when Chaos and I were talking about how 1) trench coats are sexy, 2) Spike from Buffy: The Vampire Slayer has a sexy trench coat, and there's a whole story behind it, and 3) Bakura needs his own trench coat story.

Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think!

Oh, and because Chaos needs this to be spelled out: They lived happily ever after.


End file.
